


seeking comfort in uncomfortable places

by martainez



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Headaches & Migraines, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 14:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17809970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martainez/pseuds/martainez
Summary: It's the middle of the night, and Phil's comfort eating cashews.





	seeking comfort in uncomfortable places

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by me eating cashews and crying in the middle of the night.

Phil’s comfort eating cashews.

And it’s not working. Not at all. 

Rather the opposite. The sound of the nuts crushing under his teeth loud enough to wake the dead, and even worse, the sound of his teeth clinking together, surely causing glass to smash somewhere in the apartment. It’s not comforting at all, for instead of calming his raging headache it’s making him want to split his head open and remove every sign of the pain. 

He won’t, that would be mad. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t considering the option just moments ago. 

The chewing of the cashews is so painful that he wants to stop, badly. But he can’t get himself to do it, because it’s called comfort food for a _reason_. It’s supposed to make to feel better - if even just for the moment - and maybe if he keeps eating them, then _maybe_ it’ll actually work. Maybe the cashew will do their _fucking_ work.

He’s frustrated, to say the least. 

It’s the middle of the night - not ghost hour, but later than that. The apartment is quiet, save from the crunching and crushing coming from Phil himself. It’s an optimal time to be asleep, buried deep underneath a duvet, draped in warmth from both the bed and the body he knows would be laying beside him. But no. 

He tried that - sleeping, that is to say - but his head had other plans. He even had managed to fall asleep, and also stay so for an hour or two before he woke up to excruciating pain. 

He would have been worried, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s so used to it. It’s a normal migraine, should probably be a part of his _AmazingPhil_ branding by now. 

Everybody knows he has them every once in a while, especially Dan who has lived with him for almost a decade. Dan, who has never made him feel bad about them. Dan, who’s never been anything but supportive. Still, there’s a feeling, settled somewhere deep within Phil, that he doesn’t want to bother Dan with his silly problem. 

And that’s why, as soon as he woke up and realised there was no way he’d be able to go back to sleep, he sneaked out of bed. It wasn’t all easy, Dan had had his arm thrown over Phil’s waist, capturing him in a not-too-tight but still not-that-lose grip. He’d had to lurk his way out, carefully lifting Dan’s arm, while snaking away from him. It must have looked funny to the potential gods that watched over him, but it worked. 

The room of choice had naturally fallen on the lounge, the second most comfy room in the flat. He had already managed to curl up on the couch, the self-pitying thoughts loud in his head (too loud, he badly wished they would stop), when he’d spotted the opened bag of cashews on the table. 

He started snacking the moment he ripped the resealable paper bag open. 

Something between one and two hours must have passed since then, the hands on the clock have to be the only thing that’s changed - the pain is still there, and Phil’s left in the same position he found himself in, to begin with. 

The bag is almost empty - eight pounds right down the drain (or oesophagus, whatever), he hadn’t even enjoyed them.Why does he always do this? Force himself do to things just because others enjoy it. Can’t he just accept the fact that comfort eating hard nuts aren’t the best idea when you have a migraine?

He puts away the bag, it’s empty save from a few crumbs and broken pieces, but he’s not going to force them down. No, he won’t do things like that anymore. 

But what now? His head still hurts like hell, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Maybe try to swallow a pill - or two - but that rarely works. He can’t use his phone, or watch something mildly interesting on the tv (it’s the middle of the night, remember. No great Tv shows running at this time), but the light from the devises would only cause his head to undoubtedly explode.

He’ll just have to sit in silence and wait it out. 

There’s a cracking sound coming from the floor planks disturbing the quiet of the room, as Dan appears at the top of the stairs. 

They share a look, it’s soft and perhaps a little sad. Phil bet he looks tired, he feels tired - exhausted even. But Dan also looks tired, dark circles settled deep under his eyes. He shouldn’t be awake at this over, he doesn’t deserve a sleepless night. 

Phil wants to say as much, but he doesn’t. He settles for: 

“Did I wake you?”. 

Dan doesn’t voice his answer, just shakes his head slowly as he walks closer. 

“I’m sorry,” Phil whispers, because even though Dan said no, there’s still an underlying feeling that Dan might have lied. You don’t just wake up from nothing. 

“Don’t,” Dan says, he sits down next to Phil carefully. “I woke myself up, I guess. But then you weren’t there next to me, so I figured I’d find you here”. 

Phil nods, but stops as he finds the motion making him nauseous. 

“Headache?” Dan asks. He must already know now, he must have a magical ability to sense them coming even before Phil does. 

“Yeah.” 

They both talk with small letters, really trying their best not to disturb the silence of the room. 

Dan gives him a look of sympathy, the same look he himself often hates receiving. He says it makes him feel small - sometimes even babied. And not the lovely, caring type of babied, no, the type where you feel bossed over and looked down on. He’s okay with it sometimes, but only from certain people, and only when he’s made it clear that it’s okay. 

Phil, on the other hand, he loves it. Especially when Dan’s the source of the look. It reminds him of being a kid, crawling into his mother’s arms for support. That’s exactly what he wants to do right now. He wants all the support and sympathy in the world, he’s just a little too afraid to ask for it. 

But luckily, Dan’s not too afraid to offer it. 

“You want a temple massage?”

Phil’s heart must grow bigger with fondness then. He nods. 

“Please.” 

He gets his massage. It’s wonderful, a perfectly proven formula of techniques that they’ve come up with throughout their years. After nearly ten years together Dan knows all the pressure points. He presses his fingers to the spots right above Phil’s temples, and he can’t help put to cry out a small sound of pleasure. 

It’s so nice, and it’s over way too soon. 

“Maybe you should try to get some sleep?” Dan asks. 

Phil thinks about it, he actually does. For about two seconds. 

“Don’t wanna move,” he says. 

Dan chuckles, but it’s so quiet you can barely hear it. 

“Then don’t,” he whispers and pats his lap for Phil to lay his head down on. 

He does. He takes the opportunity to throw his legs up on the couch, and make himself as comfortable as he can. 

His head still hurts, but it grows more tolerant as Dan’s slowly combs his fingers through his drooping quiff. 

He should probably feel bad about making Dan stay up, sitting uncomfortably in a sofa all night, with the weight of Phil resting on him. But he honestly doesn’t.

He feels loved, and cared for - and just the right amount of babied.

He won’t feel anxious about being a bad boyfriend anymore tonight. Right now, he’s just going to close his eyes. 


End file.
